Read Online The Saltmarsh Murders by Gladys Mitchell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Gladys Mitchell
Ads: Link
impatiently:
âOh, go away! You and your din! You and your everlasting din!â
So we went, all three of us. Really, there was nothing else to do. We all felt pretty miserable, I think, even Daphne, who detested her aunt, of course.
CHAPTER IV
MAGGOTS IN THE CHURCH PORCH
AND PUBLIC HOUSE MAGGOTS
M rs. Coutts concluded Sunday breakfast with a third cup of tea and a final despairing exhortation to the vicar to threaten, from the pulpit, all those who misbehaved at the fête on the following day. The vicar made no answer and went upstairs to put on his boots.
The service went off much as usual, except that a little shrivelled woman, with a yellow skin and beady black eyes, sat in the Gatty pew beside Mrs. Gatty and that little Mr. Gatty, who was a regular attender at Morning Prayer whenever he was home for the weekend, was absent from the service. Both the Burts turned up. Most unusual.
Immediately the Benediction had been pronounced, Mrs. Gatty rose from her knees and walked down the centre aisle to the church door. Mrs. Bradley hastened after her. The rustic congregation, standing while the vicar and I and the choristers passed into the vestry, gaped after them. The greatest surprise was still in store, however, for, as the congregation passed out of the church, Mrs. Gatty, who was standing beside the broken and ancient holy water stoup in the porch, pointed her finger at the squire and announced in clear tones:
âThou wast once a lion, and wast killed by the jawbone of an ass.â
This was so startling a rendering of the fact that Sir William, who had been an army officer, had found himself obliged to send in his papers because of malicious army-society gossip, that he turned very red, glared at Mrs. Gatty, and, almost dragging Margaret, who was holding his arm, hastened towards the lych gate and literally fled away. Mrs. Gatty next turned her attention to the innkeeper, a gross man, hairless and white-faced, with watery, pink-rimmed eyes. Although he got the cocoanuts cheap for us, I never really liked the man, good tempered though I always found him.
âAnd thou art unclean, pig that thou art,â she pronounced. The innkeeper smiled, with admirable self-restraint, I thought.
âThatâs all right, Mrs. Gatty, maâam,â he said, kindly. The smile gave a pleasanter impression of the man. He walked on.
I was the next to come under Mrs. Gattyâs notice. She pointed at me as the vicar and I came out at the vestry door.
âA kid of the goats! A kid of the goats!â she said. I blushed, I suppose. Anyway, I know I laughed.
âOh, hang it, Mrs. Gatty!â I protested, and I would have gone on talking, but that Mrs. Bradley signalled me to depart. I donât know why everybody obeys that little old woman.
Bransome Burns, the financier, was compared to a shark. He raised his hat in reply, and hastened down the road in pursuit of his host and his hostâs daughter. He had been called a shark before, I suppose. Severalothers received marks of attention from Mrs. Gatty, and then Mrs. Bradley got her away, but not in time to save the vicar, who was compared by Mrs. Gatty to a curly-fronted bull; his wife was referred to as a camel and poor Daphne as a high-stepping, supercilious giraffe; an obvious libel, as, at any other time, I should have pointed out. Daphne took it well, of course, and giggled readily, and all of us went back to the vicarage pursued by the shrill comments of the mistress of the Moat House. Luckily we had scarcely thirty yards to go.
âI wonder where Mr. Gatty was?â said Daphne to me, as she lingered while I hung my hat on the hall stand. I do not usually wear a hat, except on Sundays. âShall I come to the study and hear your headings?â
I was to preach at Evensong, and, I donât know why, preaching at Evensong always puts wind up me. Iâm all right in the morning, you know, but there is something about the solemn evening
âOh, go away! You and your din! You and your everlasting din!â
So we went, all three of us. Really, there was nothing else to do. We all felt pretty miserable, I think, even Daphne, who detested her aunt, of course.
CHAPTER IV
MAGGOTS IN THE CHURCH PORCH
AND PUBLIC HOUSE MAGGOTS
M rs. Coutts concluded Sunday breakfast with a third cup of tea and a final despairing exhortation to the vicar to threaten, from the pulpit, all those who misbehaved at the fête on the following day. The vicar made no answer and went upstairs to put on his boots.
The service went off much as usual, except that a little shrivelled woman, with a yellow skin and beady black eyes, sat in the Gatty pew beside Mrs. Gatty and that little Mr. Gatty, who was a regular attender at Morning Prayer whenever he was home for the weekend, was absent from the service. Both the Burts turned up. Most unusual.
Immediately the Benediction had been pronounced, Mrs. Gatty rose from her knees and walked down the centre aisle to the church door. Mrs. Bradley hastened after her. The rustic congregation, standing while the vicar and I and the choristers passed into the vestry, gaped after them. The greatest surprise was still in store, however, for, as the congregation passed out of the church, Mrs. Gatty, who was standing beside the broken and ancient holy water stoup in the porch, pointed her finger at the squire and announced in clear tones:
âThou wast once a lion, and wast killed by the jawbone of an ass.â
This was so startling a rendering of the fact that Sir William, who had been an army officer, had found himself obliged to send in his papers because of malicious army-society gossip, that he turned very red, glared at Mrs. Gatty, and, almost dragging Margaret, who was holding his arm, hastened towards the lych gate and literally fled away. Mrs. Gatty next turned her attention to the innkeeper, a gross man, hairless and white-faced, with watery, pink-rimmed eyes. Although he got the cocoanuts cheap for us, I never really liked the man, good tempered though I always found him.
âAnd thou art unclean, pig that thou art,â she pronounced. The innkeeper smiled, with admirable self-restraint, I thought.
âThatâs all right, Mrs. Gatty, maâam,â he said, kindly. The smile gave a pleasanter impression of the man. He walked on.
I was the next to come under Mrs. Gattyâs notice. She pointed at me as the vicar and I came out at the vestry door.
âA kid of the goats! A kid of the goats!â she said. I blushed, I suppose. Anyway, I know I laughed.
âOh, hang it, Mrs. Gatty!â I protested, and I would have gone on talking, but that Mrs. Bradley signalled me to depart. I donât know why everybody obeys that little old woman.
Bransome Burns, the financier, was compared to a shark. He raised his hat in reply, and hastened down the road in pursuit of his host and his hostâs daughter. He had been called a shark before, I suppose. Severalothers received marks of attention from Mrs. Gatty, and then Mrs. Bradley got her away, but not in time to save the vicar, who was compared by Mrs. Gatty to a curly-fronted bull; his wife was referred to as a camel and poor Daphne as a high-stepping, supercilious giraffe; an obvious libel, as, at any other time, I should have pointed out. Daphne took it well, of course, and giggled readily, and all of us went back to the vicarage pursued by the shrill comments of the mistress of the Moat House. Luckily we had scarcely thirty yards to go.
âI wonder where Mr. Gatty was?â said Daphne to me, as she lingered while I hung my hat on the hall stand. I do not usually wear a hat, except on Sundays. âShall I come to the study and hear your headings?â
I was to preach at Evensong, and, I donât know why, preaching at Evensong always puts wind up me. Iâm all right in the morning, you know, but there is something about the solemn evening
Similar Books
